


there's something tragic about you

by salvatorestjohn



Category: Legacies (TV 2018), The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Angst, Assumed Miscarriage, Backstory, Flashbacks, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-25 01:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21348169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvatorestjohn/pseuds/salvatorestjohn
Summary: "I am indeed a Salvatore," he says at last, and relief sinks in. "But I'm something else as well."Lizzie tenses. Of course he's something else. Something else is never good. Why couldn't he just be Sebastian Salvatore the vampire from the fifteenth century? Isn't that enough? Why couldn't the universe just let her have this one thing instead of complicating her entire life like usual?
Relationships: Lizzie Saltzman & Sebastian, Milton "MG" Greasley & Lizzie Saltzman
Comments: 24
Kudos: 61





	1. Names hold great power

When faced with Lizzie Saltzman and a request from her, MG usually finds it hard to refuse. Not that there have been all that many opportunities for him to say anything, but on the few rare occasions that he's been within her bubble of awareness, he struggles not to give her anything she wants. 

Part of him had hoped that that would end after his heart was crushed. She admitted that she has feelings for this mysterious new guy in town, and he gets it. He appreciates her telling him, and he respects that she's just not into him like that. He had thought maybe that meant he wouldn't be willing to bend to her every need. 

If that were true, he wouldn't currently by researching this new mysterious crush for her.

"You're ridiculous," he mutters to himself, shaking his head as he flips through what feels like the tenth book he's searched in the last hour alone.

Pathetic was Kaleb's word for it. He's finding it hard to disagree while surrounded in the Old Mill by boxes hidden away in the cupboards and books from the last few centuries about supernatural beings in England. Apparently she knows only three things about him. He's British, his name is Sebastian, and he's a vampire.

And thanks to MG blurting it out to her as soon as he got the chance, she also knows that she is the only one who can see him. He kind of thought that would be a deal-breaker for her, and yet somehow, it's only got her more interested. Apparently she's ruling out hallucination, so there must be some magical explanation. He's sure she's right.

"You're helping out a friend," he reasons with himself, turning another page, skimming over the contents. "This is what friends do. They help each other. Even when it comes to mysterious men that they know nothing about and could potentially be another Malivore monster."

He sighs, closing the book and setting it down on the table. There's no use on dwelling on that last part anymore. At least not according to Lizzie. She says that she's considering it a possibility for all they know about him — or for how little, he should say — but MG isn't sure that she's willing to believe it. This is exactly what she wanted. A new guy who knows nothing about her and who likes her. Of course she wants to have hope.

Trying to bring it up to her again now would be pointless. Especially considering they're out on a date right this very second. When she comes back, it's probably only going to have convinced her further that Sebastian is who he claims to be. Not that he's claiming much aside from_ creature of the night_, according to Lizzie.

He scoffs, picking up another book that's already a quarter of the way open. Something about the whole thing just doesn't sit right with him, for obvious reasons. The guy sounds way too good to be true, and every new thing they discover about him only seems to strengthen that. MG can't even really be sure that he does exist, even if believes that Lizzie he is. 

He turns a page, shaking his head to himself with a sigh. This would be so much easier if she had fallen for anyone else. Even someone like Landon or Kaleb would have been a better option at this point. Hell, even that guy from Mystic Falls High who got hurt in their last game. At least he'd be easier to look into what with having a corporeal form and all. 

Something creaks inside of the Mill and MG spins around. His eyes dart around, searching for a familiar head of blonde hair. Lizzie agreed to meet him to go over whatever they could find out about this Sebastian after the date, which he's almost certain was supposed to have ended at least twenty minutes ago.

Not that he can complain too much when him being late for their study date is literally the reason she met Sebastian at all. 

There's no one in sight, though, and all his hearing is picking up is the light breeze carrying the leaves through the woods and making the wooden structure around him creak every now and then. Not even a heartbeat. 

He sighs again and turns back around. As he lifts the book in his hands back up to get a closer look at what it says, something slips out from between the pages. He watches it fall to the ground, landing by his feet. 

His brow furrows but he crouches down. It looks like a ripped page. He reaches out to pick it up. There's writing on the back and the whole thing looks faded and old, splotchy with dark yellow marks. He manages to make out at least some of the ink, but the loopy, almost indistinguishable handwriting doesn't make it any easier.

"Salvatore," he muses, but isn't all that surprised. The books did come from the school, after all, about half of them were bound to have things to do with the Salvatores in them. 

There are a few other words, but one sticks out the most. He's sure it starts with a capital "s" that joins onto an "e" and he could be wrong, but he's almost positive that the letter next to it is a "b." There's a convenient fade right in the middle of the word, but it looks long enough, he thinks. There are enough letters.

"Sebastian." He reads over it, trying to see if it fits. It does as far as he can see. 

The realization hits. It's probably just a coincidence. 

He squints his eyes a little to try and make the writing out better. It doesn't do much to help. There is a date, though, he thinks, right up in the corner. There are numbers at the very least. Though he supposes with this person's handwriting, it could very well say anything. 

"Is that a...four?" he questions to himself, turning the photo slightly.

It's definitely a four, with a one in front of it. Fourteen. That's something. He squints at the other two numbers, but they might as well be nothing more than smudges of ink. The whole thing looks like a page out of an address book, indistinguishable names scrawled across the paper. 

There's another creak from just outside and MG straightens back up lightning-fast. Lizzie yelps, then curses, and he nearly jumps out of his skin as she jumps back. The shock quickly wears off, though he can hear her heart beating a mile a minute alongside his own. 

"MG!" she scolds. "I nearly hexed you. What part of don't scare the living daylights out of a witch."

"Hey, you're the one who snuck up on me with those creaky floorboards," he points out, even waving an accusing hand at the floorboard in question. "Besides, unless you've siphoned recently, you were the one in danger of scaring a vampire."

Lizzie glares, but it's fast-fading and holds none of the usual bite. In fact, something seems off. He does a quick sweep of her as she steadies her breathing, but nothing is different as far as he can tell. She just seems...brighter. Her cheeks are almost flushed, and her eyes are sparkling and wide. 

"How'd the date go?" he asks, suspecting that he's not far off his guess on what's making her practically radiate joy. 

Her cheeks flush even more, confirming it without a word needing to be said. Her mouth curves into a soft smile that he's been seeing an awful lot of lately. She rolls her eyes, crossing the rest of the distance to join him over by the table, her dress swishing around her legs like something out of Frozen. 

"Amazing," she answers with that lovestruck note in her voice, sighing as she stops beside him. "He was so sweet, and a perfect gentleman. It was like something out of a romance movie, but without all of the weirdly sappy bits. He was just..."

"Perfect?" MG guesses, raising an eyebrow. He's happy to see her this way, but he still doesn't trust Sebastian, no matter how much of a gentleman he supposedly is, or how perfect. 

Lizzie hums, leaning back against the table. She nods, agreeing with him. If MG didn't know that witches can't be compelled, he would be thinking that's exactly what was going on right now. It's like Sebastian has gotten into her head somehow. He just wishes that he could figure out how to stop him. 

"Did you ask him about, you know, the whole thing where no one but you can see him?" he asks. 

"I did," Lizzie says, and MG raises his eyebrows again, silently urging her to go on. "And he has no idea why either. He's just as clueless about it as we are. So, I think that we should stop considering that he's a monster sent from Malivore and maybe focus on figuring out how to help him."

"Help him?" MG asks, doing his best to keep the disbelief out of his voice. 

"Well, he can't just stay invisible for forever," Lizzie says as if that should have been obvious, clearly missing the part that MG's not so sold on. "We have to figure out what's causing it, and then how we can undo it. It has to be supernatural. I'm thinking it's probably the doing of a witch."

She turns away from him, focusing on the table. MG gapes at her, his eyes narrowing as she scans over the piles of books. He closes his mouth, deciding not to jump too quickly. Clearly Sebastian didn't arouse any suspicions on their date, so that has to be a good sign.

"Have you found anything yet?" she asks, reaching out and picking up one of the books he deemed useless a good twenty minutes ago. "I tried to ask Sebastian about his past, but he seemed so...closed-off. It's so mysterious."

The dreamy note returns to her voice on the last part, clearly enjoying the mystery. MG would enjoy it a lot more if it wasn't frustrating trying to research the guy with little to nothing to go on. He quickly snaps back, remembering the book and, more importantly, the page still in his hand. 

"Uh, yeah, actually." She turns her head to him and he holds out the page for her to take a look. "This was in the book. It's not exactly much to go on, and I can barely read it, to be honest, but...I'm pretty sure I saw the name Sebastian on there. Who knows, might be our mystery guy."

Lizzie's eyebrows furrow, but she takes the page from him and looks down at it. As she reads over it, he sees her confusion grow, trying to make out the writing. She sighs, rolls her eyes, and places a hand flat on the table. A faint red glow envelops her hand for a brief moment before she pulls it back, taking hold of the page again, and mutters something even his ears can't pick up properly. 

MG tries to glance at the page to see what it did, but Lizzie's already reading over it again. Her face lights up this time. 

"You're right," she says. "His name's here."

"Wait, it is?" MG asks, and quickly moves beside her to see it. 

To his surprise, the smudges of ink that might as well have not been there at all are now neat rows of names. Not even an accidental splotch in sight to disguise a single letter. At least that clears up what spell she did. And on the third row sits "Sebastian," written in such delicate, swooping handwriting that fits perfectly with the image of him MG has conjured up in his head.

He's now able to make out the rest of the name, too. He stops, his brow furrowing once more.

"Wait," he says slowly, and points to the name, "Sebastian Salvatore? That can't be right."

"He did mention something about some relatives of his living in the area at some point, but he..." Lizzie shakes her head, looking just as confused as him. "He didn't tell me his last name. Or their names."

"But wouldn't we have known about him if he was a Salvatore?" MG questions, staring at the name in case maybe it changes, maybe they're reading it wrong. "Damon and Stefan's names are all over this place. Why wouldn't he have been mentioned somewhere as well?"

"Because he wasn't from their century," Lizzie says, and points to the date up at the top of the page.

It's clearer now as well, he realizes, far easier to read. December 21st, 1481.

He doesn't pay the most attention in history — at least not to the super boring parts that don't involve crucial details of supernatural history — but he knows pretty much everything about the Salvatores, and that Damon and Stefan were from the nineteenth century. Four centuries after the existence of this supposed Sebastian. 

"Well, what about his accent then?" MG asks, looking up from the names."You said he's English, right? And — this doesn't tell us that much more about him except that he's some long lost Salvatore. We still don't know why only you can see him!"

"This is _huge_, MG," Lizzie insists, staring at the name with something akin to amazement that's starting to worry him. "Sebastian isn't just some random vampire. He's a Salvatore. Even older than my uncle Damon and Stefan. This is way more than I was expecting."

"Yeah, it's a pretty big deal," MG agrees, a wary note to his voice as he raises an eyebrow at her. "But aren't you concerned about this? Knowing a last name and clearly distant family connection considering where they each grew up isn't enough to go on to tell us if he's dangerous or not."

Lizzie shakes her head, but she doesn't seem to be agreeing or disagreeing with him. He'd prefer it if she chose one. At least is she were to disagree, it would be familiar, and he would be able to quickly come up with a way to lessen the results of whatever idea she's forming. 

"I need to talk to him again," she says, sure of herself and the words she's saying far more than MG is hearing them. "He'll tell me the truth if I just ask him."

"You wanna confront him?" MG questions in disbelief then sighs. "I mean, I guess we could―"

"No, I have to talk to him alone," Lizzie cuts him off, shaking her head again. "It's the only way he'll tell me anything."

MG's disbelief is sliding into incredulity territory. "Seriously?"

"He's a Salvatore," Lizzie says as if that's supposed to mean something. In a way, it does. "Vampire or not, he isn't going to hurt me. He likes me, and if he's anything like my uncle Damon then — you know, putting aside the murdery past part — there's a good chance he isn't going to hurt me."

"You can't be sure of that," MG says, lowering his voice as he takes a step closer to her, trying desperately to convince her. "A good chance isn't a good enough reason to risk your safety."

Lizzie's eyes soften, and then the rest of her features follow. He just holds her gaze, hoping that his worry for her is enough to make her change her mind, at least bring him along with her. But he knows her too well. She reaches out, placing a hand on his arm.

"I'll be okay, MG," she says softly, assuring. "I'm a witch, I can take care of myself. But I have to do this alone, or else he's not going to tell me anything."

MG wants to protest further. He goes to, his mouth already opening to point out all the cases where vampires have easily taken down witches when it comes down to it, and how he's more powerful than any modern-day vampire she's met, including her own mother, meaning seven centuries older and stronger. 

But Lizzie's already giving his arm a gentle squeeze and a smile. 

"Trust me," she says. "I have to go find him before he disappears."

She doesn't wait around for him to respond, spinning around on her heel and marching right back out of the Mill with determination in every step. He stares after her. His shoulders drop with a heaving sigh.

"He never exactly appears in the first place," MG mutters to himself. 

He just shakes his head to himself and lets it go. Lizzie will be fine; she can look after herself, just like she said. No matter how strong or old Sebastian may be, something's up with him, and surely if he wanted to hurt Lizzie he would have done it by now. MG shakes the not-so reassuring thought from his head as he moves back to the table, deciding to just pack everything up and see if there's something else along the way. 

* * *

Lizzie has absolutely no idea how she's going to find Sebastian, but she knows she can. She can sense him lingering nearby, and he always seems to appear when she wants him to. The thought makes her stomach turn. She glances down at the page still clutched in her hand. 

That has to be a good sign. His name's right there, written in ink in some registry from the fifteenth century. He can't just be some hallucination that her brain has made up. Unless it's a completely different Sebastian. It has to be a common name at some point, especially all those centuries ago, and the chances of him being a Salvatore and showing up now, and here of all places? 

She shakes the thought from her head with a frustrated sigh, and lifts her eyes back to her surroundings. She's past the Old Mill, back in the woods. The lake has to be close by. Maybe he isn't gone yet. Or at the very least, maybe he'll reappear to her if he really is some apparition or whatever.

The best-case scenario is that he's working with a witch and using some spell that makes it possible for only her to see him, as little sense as it makes. The worst? There are too many for her to think about without spiralling into doubt and jumping to conclusions. She can just feel that he's not a bad guy. 

"Sebastian?" she calls out, her voice echoing through the trees, ringing back to her in a way that should be eery but is familiar having grown up most of her life around them. "Sebastian?"

She walks further, finally able to spot the shimmering from the sun's reflection on the lake just a little ahead. All evidence that she was just having one of the best date's of her life is already gone. Doubt creeps into her mind as she frowns, but continues forward a little more hesitantly now. 

Her fingers tighten around the already old and damaged piece of paper in her hand, ignoring the sting of the edges threatening to cut her. She sets her jaw, annoyance flaring inside of her, because of course she can't find him. 

"Sebas—"

"I'm right here."

She stops in her tracks and turns to her left. Sure enough, there's Sebastian. Looking as charming as he has on every occasion in that damn outfit with his hand behind his back, his blue eyes sparkling with humour, and that smile on his lips. The last two fade when he sees the expression on her face.

"What's the matter, Elizabeth?" he asks, deadly serious as when he said not to come closer, now doing the exact opposite himself as he moves over to her. "You were fine when I left you. Has something happened?"

Her annoyance quickly dissipates at his concern. It's so sincere, and the way he looks at her makes her melt.

Her head tilts as she subconsciously notices how bright his eyes are. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she compares them to her uncle Damon's. Now that she's really looking, actually, she can see some similarities. Maybe a few too many.

"What?" She quickly snaps herself out of it as his eyebrows draw together. "Yes. Something _has_ happened, as a matter of fact."

She draws herself up to her full height — with her heels, she's eye-level with him — and crosses her arms. It's not an interrogation, really, but she needs answers from him before she can fully trust him. She wants to trust him.

"Is your last name Salvatore?" she asks, deciding to just come right out with it.

Sebastian blinks, surprise flashing across his face, then pulls back. She can see it right away; a wall goes up, his defences raised immediately at the simple question. That doesn't exactly bode well for this conversation, she realizes. 

His mouth curves slowly, though, and his eyes narrow slightly. "Why do you want to know?"

A red flag rises straight to attention in her mind. She narrows her eyes right back at him.

"Why are you avoiding the question?" she asks, suspicion creeping into her voice.

"You just avoided my own," Sebastian counters with that amused spark in his eyes as his smirk returns.

Lizzie doesn't let her face twitch in the slightest. She does falter for a second under his gaze. 

"I want to know because I want to know who you are," she says and returns his smirk, smug. Now she's a point ahead, and he can't argue with that or charm his way around it. 

Sebastian hums, seemingly unfazed. He looks up, starting to walk, taking slow steps around her. She frowns and turns her head to follow him but keeps herself rooted to the spot, the hair on her neck prickling.

"You know," Sebastian starts as if what he's about to say is some interesting fact, imbuing her with some great knowledge from his time, "names hold great power. It is believed that a person must keep them close and be wary of them, for their soul is tied to them."

Lizzie arches an eyebrow and scoffs out a laugh. "Seriously, what century are you from? No one believes in the fae anymore, or that dumb superstition. Names are just words."

"Really?" he asks with genuine curiosity, coming back into her line of sight. "How interesting. It's funny what people choose to believe in and what not to even when the evidence is right in front of their eyes."

She decides not to question his implication on the existence of the fae. That opens up far too many questions that she can't let her mind wander to right now. Even if part of her really wants to know if he's ever seen one. Or if she ever has and has just forgotten. Something clicks in her head about Malivore but she quickly pushes the thought right to the back for the time being. 

"You still haven't answered my question," she points out. 

"I don't understand what difference knowing will make," Sebastian says, pausing briefly in front of her to shake his head. His expression twitches with another crease of his eyebrows, his eyes darting over her as if trying to see something that isn't physically there. "You must want something more than simply to know me."

"I don't," Lizzie insists, confused. "I just want the truth from you. I mean," she huffs, waving behind her, "I already told you that the school I go to is called The _Salvatore_ School, and yet, you never said a thing about you having any connection to them."

Sebastian looks back up towards the treetops, clicking his tongue in a way that actually infuriates her. She didn't think it was possible from someone so charming, and yet, here she is, wanting almost nothing more than to use one of her most recently learned curses on him just to get him to talk. She resists the impulse. 

"What I am most curious about is what has put this into your head?" he asks, shaking his own to himself as his narrowed eyes are drawn back to her with a look of genuine puzzlement. "This name you keep asking me about. The one you say that your school is named after. Why do you believe that I share the same name?"

Lizzie briefly wonders if this is a trap, but there's something in his voice when he asks that last question. A wary edge, bordering on fear. The thought that her questioning him about his last name is enough to make him afraid makes even less sense to her than this entire situation does.

She unfolds her arms only to thrust the piece of paper at him.

"Because of this," she says firmly as he glances down at it with growing apprehension before accepting it from her with tentative fingers. "Unless the fact that you showed up here and share a scary number of features with Damon Salvatore is just a big coincidence. Is it?"

She watches his face for a reaction as his eyes move down the page, then stops, and she can take a stab at what name he's found. He stiffens, his breath catching. Realization flashes across what she can see of his face, and then his whole demeanour changes, the air around him even feeling as if it shifts. 

"Where did you find this?" he asks, his voice tight, keeping his eyes fixed on the page.

"In some old book," she says, deciding it best to leave MG out of it. "What does it matter where I found it? Are you the same Sebastian Salvatore that's apparently from the fifteenth freaking century?" 

Sebastian's jaw twitches. It's enough to answer the question for her. She still waits for him to say it, because she needs real confirmation, she can't take guesses with this. If he's really a Salvatore...that changes so many things.

For one, it means she has to figure out how to tell her uncle Damon he actually does have another living relative, and the one she dreads the most, how to tell her mom that she's fallen for a Salvatore. Or her dad, for that matter. She'll never be allowed to leave the school building again. 

Sebastian clears his throat, his mouth stretching, but it lacks any humour. He finally lifts his eyes back to her. There's a familiar glint, but there's something new as well, shining like a shield in the sun. 

"If I were to tell you, what would you do with this information, hm?" he asks, holding the page out in a gesture. He almost looks dangerous, his voice an attempt at threatening. "Would you...tell others? Use it against me, perhaps?"

Lizzie stares at him incredulously, trying to make sense of a word he's saying. "What? No. Well, I might tell my uncle Damon, but only if you wanted me to, obviously. I — why are you so paranoid all of a sudden?"

"Because when people ask questions about who you are there is always a reason, Elizabeth," Sebastian snaps, the words a rush to leave his mouth as he steps closer, his eyes wide and blazing as his fingers tighten around the page. 

She falters, her eyebrows furrowing. "You're scared. Like...actually scared."

He stops, not breaking her stare, his lips pressing tightly together. He looks as if he wants to deny it, is about to, but it's written all over his face and he has to sense that. He glances down, taking in a deep breath, but the fear doesn't shift. 

"Why are you afraid of telling me who you are?" she asks and quickly registers what he said. "What do you mean there's always a reason? What can someone do with just your name?"

The question of the existences of the fae circles back into her mind, and she wonders if this is the root of everything surrounding him. It might explain why only she can see him. Who knows, his past lover could have turned out to be a fae and cursed him once she found out his name. That would at least fill in a few of the blanks. 

"A lot more than you might believe," Sebastian sighs. He looks up at her, and the shield has dropped. In its place is a sincere vulnerability. "Especially with a name such as my own."

"Why?" Lizzie asks, shaking her head. "If you're a Salvatore, then why is that such a big deal? I mean, from whatever century you're from anyway, because, I can assure you, you would be adored for being a Salvatore in this one if anyone else knew." Her eyes widen, and she hurriedly adds, "which they won't, unless you want them to."

Sebastian hesitates another moment, his eyes moving between hers, searching for something unknown to her. He must find it, because something shifts. There's trust that wasn't there before, accompanied by that same look he had when he talked of his past lover. 

"I am indeed a Salvatore," he says at last, and relief sinks in. "But I'm something else as well."

Lizzie tenses. Of course he's something else. Something else is never good. Why couldn't he just be Sebastian Salvatore the vampire from the fifteenth century? Isn't that enough? Why couldn't the universe just let her have this one thing instead of complicating her entire life like usual?

"Like...a hybrid?" she asks uncertainly, shrugging. A hybrid she can deal with. Klaus Mikelson was one, and so was Tyler Lockwood, and her mom was pretty great friends with both of them. 

Sebastian's eyes darken as soon as she says it. "So you've heard of them then."

Her heart skips a beat. "Wait, you're serious? I'm right? You're a hybrid?"

"No," he says, and she sinks. "But Niklaus Mikaelson is. You must have heard of him to know that word."

"Yeah, of course," she says, shrugging again. "Everyone's heard of Klaus. He's, like, a legend. All of the Mikaelsons are."

Sebastian's face twists at that, a humourless, almost sad smile on his lips. He shakes his head.

"Almost, but not all."

She stares at him, confused, and he gives a soft sigh. Something in the back of her mind is trying to solve the puzzle before he shows her the cover, frantically moving pieces to fit. She's close to figuring it out, she can feel it the longer she stares at him, noticing that his familiar resemblance isn't just to her uncle Damon.

"I am not just a Salvatore," he says, and she holds her breath, waiting. "I am also a Mikaelson."

Her heart drops into her stomach. She lets out the breath in a huff of air, then quickly draws more back in as she just stares at him, processing. That can't be right. He has to be lying to her. 

"You're a Mikaelson?" she breathes out quietly, disbelief winding around the words.

"I am," he says, lowering his own voice, but it's not the same as when he confessed that he's a vampire. 

"So...is your name Sebastian Salvatore or Sebastian Mikaelson?" she asks. 

"Salvatore," he answers with that same sad smile. "They were the family I grew up with. The ones who raised me."

She shakes her head again, holding her hands up in front of her as she closes her eyes. Her mind is still processing, trying to make sense of the whole thing, except there is no sense in it to make. Here she was thinking that him being a Salvatore was the most complicated it could get.

"Wait, hold on, so, how exactly are you a Salvatore and a Mikaelson?" she asks, looking at him. "Are you, like, a long-lost sibling of Klaus and the rest of them? And — how are you British if you were raised with the Salvatores? They lived here. And before that, they lived in Italy!"

"Elizabeth, do you swear that anything I say to you will not be repeated to anyone else, no matter what?" he asks, holding her gaze with soft, pleading eyes. "Not even that friend of yours, or your sister?"

Lizzie pauses, the thought of lying to Josie leaving her with a guilty twist in her stomach, and not telling MG after everything that he's been doing to help her doesn't sit right with her. But Sebastian is opening up to her. He's afraid, but he's willing to tell her. Willing to trust her. 

She draws herself up and nods with conviction. 

"I swear to you, Sebastian," she promises. 

He takes another moment to figure out if her answer is sincere, then glances around as if someone might be watching them. She faintly worries that MG decided to follow her and make sure she was alright. If he sees him, he won't trust her. But he doesn't seem to find anything as he swallows, turning back to her. It's the closest to nervous she's seen him during their interactions. 

"I should warn you then, it's an awfully long story," he says, his eyes flicking back up to meet hers. 

She smiles, shrugging, and says, "it's a good thing I love long stories and have plenty of time to spare then. Come on." She reaches out, looping an arm through his, to his surprise. "We can walk, admire nature, and you can tell me everything."

He smiles back, his eyes softening, and he accepts her invitation.


	2. Does he have a name?

_December 17th, 1464._

The snow has been coming down for hours. It's kept the outside tinged with a strange blue all night, and the glass on the windows of the cabin has little frost lines crawling across its surface, as if serving as a reminder that it's winter. It's all Freya's been able to focus her attention on. Despite it all, though, the cabin is kept warm by the fireplace, and her skin is burning hot, glistening with sweat as she tries to breathe. 

The pain is too much. It's ripping her apart from the inside out, every muscle in her body constricting and twisting, punishing her. Maybe that's just the poison trying to work the last of itself out of her system. It burns through her stomach as she clenches her teeth, crying out, forced to screw her eyes shut. Somewhere beside her, she can hear Dahlia murmuring to her to push as she strokes her hair, that it'll be over soon. 

It's already over. Everything is gone. The poison didn't kill her, and now her son is dead. Mathias is dead. Because she thought that she actually had a chance to escape, that she could be free, and live a normal, happy life. This is just another one of the universe's cruel ways of telling her how wrong she was. Reminding her that she will never be free of Dahlia. 

Her stomach clenches, clamping down on every part of her abdomen and back, spreading through her entire body, and she loses her train of thought immediately. She cries out, one hand clawing at the hard floors beneath her. The other tightens around Dahlia's hand. 

"Breathe, sweet Freya," Dahlia soothes, "just one more."

"I can't," Freya weakly protests, shaking her head from side to side, but even that makes her ache all over. "I can't, I can't. Just make it stop. There has to be something. Just do something, _please_."

"Shh, shh," Dahlia murmurs as she continues to stroke her hair. "_Asinta Mulaf Hinto, Sho Bala_. There we go, now just breathe."

The pain lessens ever so slightly, a faint numbness starting in her hand, eventually spreading until the cramps ease and she can't feel a thing. She heaves out a breath, tears rolling down from the corners of her eyes as she lets them flicker open. Her head's still tilted to her left. All she can see is the window, with its frost, and the snow falling heavier than she's ever seen.

Her mind tries to pull back up the image of Mathias' body. Laying there in the snow, bleeding. Dead. But then Dahlia's voice is in her ear again, whispering, fingers still pushing through her hair as if she were her mother. Bitterness rises up in Freya's throat, but a dull ache starts back up in her abdomen and she listens to Dahlia willing her to push. 

The spell manages to cling to her long enough for her to do it. She can feel it, but she tries not to focus on anything, keeping her eyes fixed on the window as her entire body constricts but without the pain, somehow. It's over in seconds, quickly easing back to that ache. 

"There we go," Dahlia says softly. "You did it, my sweet Freya. It's over now. You just lay here and rest. I'll take care of it."

Freya doesn't respond. Her throat closes up even if she wanted to. It takes everything in her not to break down again, doing her best to hold back the burning in her eyes at Dahlia's words. She just listens to her and lays there, even when Dahlia lets go of her. She feels something, but she doesn't say a word, simply staring at the window. 

Quiet footsteps echo in the little cabin that is her home and prison. She follows each one, counting, until there's the soft click of the door opening. A breeze dances in, threatening to extinguish the warm fire behind her as it flickers. Then the door clicks again, and the cabin is left with a chill as the fire stops moving. 

A sob tears from her raw throat, rubbing and aching. It all presses down on at her once. Her chest is too tight to breathe properly, and the pain flares back up from her abdomen, spreading like a wildfire through her limbs. She clenches her teeth, but another cry slips through, wracking her entire body. 

"Asi—" she swallows the lump in her throat, pressing a hand to her stomach without looking, feeling the blood matted into the fabric of her dress, "—_Asinta Mulaf Hinto, Sho_—_Sho Bala_."

For a moment, she thinks it isn't working as the pain only grows to an excruciating level. Then it starts to ease, slowly, until she's stopped arching off of the hard floors beneath her and collapses back down, breathless. 

She curls up, her chest heaving as her tears just change track. Her eyes hurt and are too dry, but she keeps them open, staring at that window. It's almost impossible to see out of it with the layers of frost covering it, but she can still make out the snow falling, blanketing the earth around them. 

She stays there like that. Crying silently to herself. Numb. Staring at the window, waiting for the soft click of the door. She hopes it never comes. Maybe the snow is too deep, too cold. Maybe something can be more powerful than an immortality spell, or maybe Dahlia sees her betrayal as unforgivable and leaves her. 

She imagines what her life could be like. She could find her family, at last. Images of her mother sit in the front of her mind. Her warm smile, her kind eyes, the comfort of her arms. The scent of lilacs and elderberry and ginger. Her little brother, Finn. She doesn't know how big he would be now. Dahlia says they're immortal, like them, but different. Twisted, unnatural. 

All she can think of is sitting with them around the fire. And her father. His soothing words and comforting laugh, telling stories that make her mother shush him and attempt to scold him while she and Finn both squeal with delight, enthralled by even the watered-down versions of his most gruesome tales. 

If Dahlia had never come for her, she thinks, watching the snow, she could have been with them. Maybe she would have had her son by now, even if she can't imagine being with anyone other than Mathias.

She could have been sitting there by the fire with him wrapped in her arms as her father tells him the same stories that delighted her, watches her mother amaze him with the same spells she was trying to teach her and Finn. Finn himself might have even had children. She could have had nieces or nephews. 

Her heart twists and her eyes try to close as another sob tears from her throat, but she forces them to stay focused on the snow, focused on the possibilities of what kind of life she would have with her family. All hope of ever seeing them again was dragged out of her with the poison, but deep down, there's the smallest sliver clinging on inside a crevice of her broken heart.

Her eyes feel heavier, and her breathing is finally slowing. She has no idea how long it's been; with the snow unrelenting, it's been dark for days with no way to tell time. But exhaustion is finally hitting her in waves, and every blink keeps the frosty window out of her view longer and longer each time until her eyes stay closed and she lets herself be pulled away from reality.

* * *

Dahlia walks across the cabin with careful steps, trying not to be too loud. She pauses by the door, glancing back over her shoulder. Freya doesn't move an inch. She doesn't even look at her. She just lays there, staring blankly at nothing, breathing in shallow gasps. It's almost as if she's in a completely different world, unaware of anything around her, even her own blood seeping into the wood of their floor.

Sighing quietly, Dahlia opens the door with one hand, ensuring that the bundle in her arms stays secure. She hesitates when the cold of winter blows in, biting at her skin. She glances down then quickly averts her eyes to her right, searching. They land on a dark blue scrap of fabric; one of Freya's shawls, imbued with a protection spell, and unknown to her, a tracking spell. 

She reaches out, snatching it up as quickly but quietly as possible. Throwing another glance behind her at Freya, who doesn't appear to notice her lingering, she adjusts the bundle in her arms, wrapping the shawl twice. Then she pulls up her hood, shielding herself from the cold, and steps outside of the cabin as she closes the door behind her.

The snow swirls around her and into her lungs as she takes in a deep, chilling breath. She simply holds her arms closer to her body and walks, leaving the cabin behind. As she makes her way into the woods, she can feel the air growing icier around her. The bundle in her arms shifts, and she stops in concern. 

With careful fingers, she pulls the shawl to the side ever so slightly. Enough to see the little face peeking through. His eyes stay closed, but his lips part, and his face screws up as if to cry. Nothing comes out, and his cheeks are flushed from the biting cold.

"You poor, sweet boy," she says softly, gently brushing a curled finger down his cheek. He's freezing.

She murmurs a heating spell and feels his skin warm instantly from her touch. He relaxes in her arms again, but she waits, feeling for his heartbeat. It's slow but strong enough to not be too much of a concern. He'll be okay for long enough. There isn't a trace of the poison in him, protected from her spell. If only Freya hadn't had so little faith in her. 

Pulling the shawl back to cover up what she can of his exposed skin, she readjusts his position away from the cold before starting to walk again. The heavy snowfall makes it hard to see much ahead of her, but she has an idea of where she's going. It's a good thing she's had the area memorized for centuries, knows every little crevice, every path that she warns Freya far away from.

The docks aren't far from the cabin, but just enough for Freya to not have found them on her own. She was asleep the entire time they were on that ship bringing them ashore all those centuries ago. But with the help of that man, she certainly would have found it. He put those thoughts in her head, to run away, to disobey her.

Dahlia winds her way through the woods, the snow crunching beneath her feet with each hurried step. The snowstorm is a flurry, the wind whispering around her. Being out for too long will put her at risk. Not only her, but the little boy. No one must see her with him. Not yet. 

She reaches the docks soon enough. Just past them to the right is a large dwelling, hidden by the trees, but in place view of sailors and stragglers and people taking the wrong path from town. She scoffs at the sight of its red brick walls and winding pathway leading up to the dark oak double doors that just fail to impress. At least her, anyway. 

She's heard about this family before. Rumours on the few occasions she's had to stray into town, berries, and leaves, and spells not enough to satisfy neither her nor Freya. Not a bad word to be said about them as far as she's heard, but it all sounds too familiar for her liking. Like those Vikings that stole away her dear sister, only weaker, far less attuned to the world and what lies just beyond their ability to see. 

But they're good people, apparently. They look after, they care for, they give people a place to be safe. She isn't buying it, but she has to put her belief in it for the time being. It's the only way for this to work.

The little boy bundled in her arms, making quiet little noises, trying to fight against the cold. He just isn't strong enough. Not yet. And Freya. Her sweet, idiotic Freya. She is in no state for it yet. She needs time to remember that she is the one who cares for her. The boy needs to grow stronger, like Freya did, before he is ready to join them, to increase their power. 

She can adjust the sleeping spell. Rather than a century, they will sleep for a decade. That should be enough. Then she can return for the boy, and let Freya know the truth. That she should never have doubted the measures she would take to secure this immortality, that she would never have made such a miscalculation when she knew, deep down, how harshly Freya resents her. 

When the time is right, they will be reunited. And their power will grow and strengthen. With this little boy, she thinks as she looks down at his sleeping face with a smile, her plan will finally come to fruition in the way she hoped. There will be no more need to miss out on the world. He is the key to it all. But not yet.

She pushes herself forward, striding through the thick snow blanketing the forest ground so high that it reaches just below her knees. The path crunches, but there's no one around outside to hear her. She glances at the ship sitting idle at the dock, tied up, but seemingly empty. 

For a brief moment, she worries that there will be no one to take the boy. Leaving him outside to fend for himself would only result in his death being the truth. She can't have that. She needs him. For the spell, for Freya. It's the only way.

When she reaches the doors at last, she brings a hand up and knocks steadily on the door three times. It's a common courtesy, she hears. Not that anyone from her time used to know what that meant. She hasn't been awake in this time long enough to know how the world works now, but some things she can take a guess at. 

There's a pause, nothing happening, and she fears that she was right. The snow continues to fall around her, clinging to the soft, thankfully durable, fabric of her cloak. Suddenly the shawl in her arms doesn't seem like such a good idea with how thin and flimsy it is. 

Then there's a shadow behind the frosted glass on the door, and it opens a moment later to reveal a young lady. Her hair is the colour of chestnuts, coiled up into two buns on the side of her head. Her eyes are like that of a doe's, staring with polite curiosity that would probably have gotten her killed in Dahlia's time. 

The clothing is far different from what she remembers, too. A long sweeping dress of dark green, embroidered with some gold patterning that spirals all the way across, starting at the scoop of her neckline that reveals a black, square underclothing of sorts, down to the sleeves that puff out, hiding her hands. It looks nothing like what she's seen a few of the other residents wearing.

"Hello, Miss," the girl greets kindly, but eyes her with a reasonable amount of caution, standing stiff in the doorway. "Can I help you with something?"

Dahlia smiles at the girl who can't be much younger than what Freya is supposed to be. 

"Yes, I believe that you can," she says. "I'm looking for the Salvatores. I hear they offer shelter for those in need."

The girl looks to the baby bundled in her arms now, no need to be discreet. Some realization flashes across her face, taking on a look of understanding as she nods. 

"We do," she says. "Please, come in and wait. I'll fetch my papa."

"No need," Dahlia cuts in, swiftly stopping her as she goes to move. "I am not the one in need of shelter. Only this little one."

The girl stops, her eyes darting back to the baby. She seems uncertain of what to do, glancing up at her with parted lips as if to protest, argue that she stay as well. Dahlia can only imagine what kind of people they've come across, how many they've insisted on taking in for a short time. 

"I believe that his father lived here," she says, raising her eyebrows. "Mathias? Is that right?"

The girl's eyes widen, and Dahlia is sure she's right. 

"Mathias? His baby was—" She stops, staring at the baby in disbelief. Her voice is quieter when she speaks, sounding breathless. "I didn't know he had been born yet."

"It was rather sudden. Freya wasn't expecting it either," Dahlia agrees, deciding to leave out the helpful addition of a magical poison that may have induced labour a few days sooner than expected. She also tries not to react to the implication that this girl she's never seen before knew that Freya was pregnant before she herself did. 

The girl starts to shake her head then stops again, looking up at Dahlia. 

"Where is Freya? Is she alright?" she asks with such concern that one might have thought they were as close as family.

"Freya..." Dahlia starts, then realizes that she has to be careful.

Too many questions lead to too many lies. She masks her face with the most heartbroken look she can muster, as if she's wallowing in the grief that Freya is currently feeling. In a way, it feels like is. Even if Freya needs her now and says she won't disobey her again, Dahlia knows that she doesn't mean it. 

"There were...complications," Dahlia says, straining her voice as she averts her eyes down to the baby. She swallows, clearing her throat. "It was too hard on my dear Freya. With how sudden the birth was, and with so little on hand to aid her..."

The understanding of what she's saying is clear between them. The girl covers her mouth with a shaking gasp, her eyes wide and already shining with tears. 

"She's dead?" she asks quietly. "Does — does Mathias know? He left sometime yesterday, but we haven't heard back from him since. We've all been worried about him. Oh god, he's going to be devastated."

"I'm afraid that Mathias...he didn't make it either," Dahlia says, trying to sound mournful, as if she, too, is experiencing this great loss when she relished in watching his eyes bleed until he collapsed to the ground. "He went out, to try and get something to aid Freya from town. But the snow...it was too harsh to him through the night. I suspect he got lost."

The girl actually cries at this news. She's so young. Naive. So easy to manipulate. Dahlia would feel bad, but she was going to find out that Mathias was dead one way or another. This seems kinder. At least she gets something out of it instead of being left heartbroken and grief-stricken. For now, anyway.

"I was hoping that I could leave this little one with you and your family," Dahlia tells her, the storm behind her unrelenting, and she's aware that her absence will soon begin to stir up suspicions with Freya. Or give her another chance to attempt an escape 

The girl lifts her head, her hand still pressed to her mouth. Her eyes are wet and red-rimmed, but she looks down at the bundle in Dahlia's arms as if she had forgotten he was there. 

"I would have kept him in my own care, but...it didn't feel right," she goes on. "After Freya...I know it's not the child's fault. But you and your family have lost someone, too, and I'm sure Mathias would have wanted you to look after him."

The girl is already nodding before she's done speaking. She steps forward, out of the house for the first time since she opened the door, and reaches out to take him from her. 

Dahlia carefully passes him over, ensuring that the cloak goes with him. In the event of her being wrong about this family, it's the only thing that will be able to draw her back to him. Thankfully, the girl secures it around him, probably able to feel his tiny shivering form now that he's huddled in her arms. 

"Oh, the poor thing is freezing," she says, her voice cracking when she looks down at his little face. "Oh. He looks so much like them. His eyes..." She lifts her own to Dahlia, now glistening again as a fresh tear slips down her cheek. "I can see so much of Freya in him."

Dahlia has to press her lips together tightly as she forces what she is sure comes across as a sad smile of agreement. There's a deep twisting in her stomach at the thought of Freya bonding so closely with this family. Her plans to run away, become one of them. Maybe she shouldn't have handed the child over so willing. 

He gives a broken cry that sounds as if it rubs his dry throat raw from the icy air that must be getting into it the longer he's exposed to the winter storm. The girl quickly soothes him, pulling the shawl up a little further to try and fix it. 

"Does he have a name?" she asks suddenly, and lifts a shoulder. "Mathias and Freya talked of possibilities, but they never agreed on one. Did either of them...or did you...?"

Dahlia thinks for a moment as the girl rocks the baby in her arms. Freya, of course, never mentioned any names to her. And she never exactly had much of a conversation with Mathias to figure out what would be his preference. At least she would have known what to avoid then. 

Instead, her mind goes back to a little village in Norway. Running around the fields with Esther, playing and laughing. Her feet leaving the ground so suddenly she had momentarily thought that her magic was giving her the ability to fly. Then she registered the strong arms wrapping around her, and burst out into fits of laughter as her father scooped up Esther, too, pretending to be some terrifying creature as they delighted in it. It was one of the only good points in her life. 

"Yes, he has a name," she decides, staring at the little boy, still unable to properly open his eyes. This young girl may be seeing her brother, but all Dahlia can see is the only man who loved her. "Sebastian. After Freya's grandfather. They both thought it would be nice."

The girl agrees with another broken cry, nodding. She brushes the back of her knuckles along his cheek as she smiles down at him. Dahlia watches, amazed by the way humans work. Things are constantly changing, but most humans seem to remain the same with their capacity for love and compassion, even to little creatures they've only just met. 

"Hello, little Sebastian," the girl says softly, only proving her right. "You're going to be okay. I promise."

Dahlia is more than satisfied that this was the right move to make. Sebastian will grow up with the Salvatores, his father's family. He will be raised as one of them. And then, when the time comes, he will be reunited with his real family. She catches the girl's eyes, nods, and then turns around, coming back the way she came without a word and a smirk on her lips. All will work out in the end so long as there is patience.


	3. I believe I am desiccated

Lizzie stops walking, coming to an abrupt halt. They're deep into the woods by now, close to entering into the actual grounds of the school and becoming visible to everyone. Though, she supposes it would only be here that everyone else would see. The question of why is still itching at the front of her mind, but she pushes it away for the time being, deciding to focus on the more important ones. 

She turns to stare at Sebastian as he stops alongside her, her confusion all over her face. 

"Wait, so, you're Freya Mikaelson's son?" she asks, just to be sure, and he nods patiently. "That...sure. Okay. Why not, let's just go all out with this thing. But," she shakes her head, "what I'm not getting is why your crazy great-aunt would leave you with the Salvatores."

"I do not know," Sebastian admits, a wary edge slipping back into his voice. "I never met her."

Lizzie's eyebrows furrow and she says, "well, that makes even less sense. Everyone knows that Dahlia wanted the power of the firstborn Mikaelsons. There's literally three chapters about it in a book about your family history in the library. Why wouldn't she want to use you as well? She wouldn't even have had to kidnap you."

Sebastian stares at her in a way that makes her pause. 

"What do you mean?" he asks slowly.

"Do you not...?" It hits her. "Oh. _Oh_, of course you don't know! If you never her met her then — duh! You wouldn't know anything about her spell or how crazy she was!"

Sebastian's eyes narrow at her, and she can the suspicion returning to him, his defences slowly going back up. He's about one more word from taking a step back and putting them right back at square one.

"Dahlia's known by pretty much everyone in the supernatural world for what she did to your mom," she hurries to explain, not wanting to mess this up, even through a miscommunication. "Her spell? The one that was supposed to replicate immortality, I guess?"

No matter what she's saying, it doesn't seem to be making any more sense to Sebastian. If anything, it's only fuelling his confusion, his frown deepening the more she talks.

"That was the whole point of her taking Freya from her sister when she was five," she tries. "Esther? She said that it was because Mikaelson firstborns are too powerful and only she could help them control it? Is any of this ringing any bells to you?"

Sebastian shakes his head slowly. Her shoulders drop in disbelief. She didn't exactly expect to be the one telling him about his own family history. He was supposed to be the one giving her the answers. Though she's starting to feel like they're a lot more complicated than either she or MG thought.

"None of it," he says, and his voice is sincere. He looks her in the eyes, giving another shake of his head. "What do you mean too powerful?"

Lizzie opens her mouth to answer then falters. Something in his expression gives it away. He doesn't know. In fairness, she wouldn't either if it wasn't one of the mandatory subjects in Magical History, and she certainly can't say that she knows the Gemini Covens entire history either. 

"You don't know that they were witches, do you?" she asks carefully.

The look on Sebastian's face is answering enough. He was completely clueless. 

"You mean to say that they..." he starts, then falters, clearly trying to wrap his head around it, "...that I..." 

A pang of sympathy hits her and she reaches out. His eyes dart to the movement sharply as she touches his arm. Part of her says to pull back, but he doesn't give her one of his vague warnings. He just continues to stare at it, his lips parting but nothing coming out. 

"I know what it's like to not be told the truth about your own bloodline," she tells him softly. "It sucks."

He glances at her without lifting his head, peering through his lashes. Her mind immediately goes to how beautiful he is. He's the perfect picture of what everyone thinks when they heard the word vampire, as if he were made to be one. She supposes it's fairly ironic considering the whole immortality situation.

"All I ever knew of this...Dahlia was that I was to fear her," he confesses quietly, looking back down at the ground, his eyebrows only knitting further together. "There were whispers. Some of my family thought that Dahlia had lied when she left me with them."

"Lied about what?" Lizzie asks carefully, tilting her head. "That your dad was a Salvatore?"

"No, no, nothing like that," he says. "They never once doubted my heritage, and neither have I. But..." 

Something happens to the look on his face. It darkens. Twists. It's strange and makes him almost seem unfamiliar to her.

"There were questions of whether or not my mother truly died during my birth," he goes on. "They had other...theories. That Dahlia had been the one to take my mother's life, and possibly my father's. They could never figure out what her intentions were for bringing me to them rather than leaving me to be taken by the winter, but it was one of the reasons they left for England the next day, taking me with them."

Lizzie tries to process the last part, but her mind's stuck on the first. She searches his face for any sign that he's going to continue, tell her that he knows what she does. But there's nothing. 

"Sebastian..." she starts, and he looks back up at her, letting her hold onto his gaze this time. She shakes her head slowly, trying to find the best way phrase it. The truth is the only way. "Freya Mikaelson isn't dead."

His arm tenses underneath her hand, and the air shifts around them, feeling heavier as silence falls between them. He stares at her, now the one searching, trying to make sense of her words. She can see a glimpse of it, enough to know that he thinks she's lying. 

She thought he knew. The entire time he was explaining to her how he's Freya's son and what the Salvatores told him about Dahlia bringing him to them, she had been assuming he knew that Freya was alive, or at least had been while he was growing up. 

"How...how is that possible?" he asks, his eyes wide. "Is she a vampyr?"

Lizzie has to force herself not to smile at the way he says it. Now isn't the time to be finding his accent and old way of talking incredibly endearing and adorable. He's the one in need of answers, and she can give them to him. 

"No," she says, "she's just a witch. What I mean is, she never died. Whatever Dahlia told your family, it was a lie."

She tries to recall everything she remembers hearing about the situation; it's all mostly vague snippets, but at least her memories of Hope came back in time to give her even that much.

"Dahlia was keeping her trapped. They were linked together for the curse that she put on both of them to make them sleep for centuries and only wake up for a year at a time. Or something like that."

Sebastian takes a step back, shaking his head again. She wants to follow, sympathy mixing with guilt at having to be the one to tell him tugging sharply at her, but she stays rooted to the spot.

"No, no, you — you must be mistaken," he says, huffing out a humourless chuckle. "That is not possible. That would mean..."

Lizzie watches him trail off, the argument abandoned as he looks back down at the ground. Her heart aches for him; she hates how much lies and secrets there have been in her own family, but to not know something so major until _centuries_ later? She's almost glad that it only took sixteen years for her and Josie to learn about the merge. 

She quickly steps forward again but he throws a hand out in front of him like he did on their first meeting. She stops in her tracks and holds her own up as he seems to try and process everything she's said.

"I'm telling you, Freya is alive," she insists. "I've seen her. She's been her like a million times. She has a niece who goes to school here, and a child."

Sebastian goes completely still and her eyes widen.

"Another child," she corrects, but the damage already seems to have been done. 

He sucks in a deep breath, not that it does much good. He slowly lowers his arm and she mirrors him but makes no move to get closer again. She swallows, watching him carefully.

"You are sure that it is her?" he asks, lifting his eyes back to her.

They're doubtful, but it's the sliver of hope that's mixed in with a few other things she's not going to focus too much on right now that gets to her. He wants her to be right and wrong at the same time for too many reasons. She gets it.

"It's her," Lizzie confirms gently, nodding. 

They're both silent as it sinks in. Lizzie is still reeling from the revelation, but she's gotten used to adapting to surprising news fairly quickly by this point. She's still trying to imagine her mom and dad's faces. Not to mention Hope. After everything that's happened, especially recently with everyone forgetting her, she'd probably love to know that Sebastian exists. 

Sebastian just gives a quiet huff of disbelief. His mouth starts to stretch, curving into that smile that makes her melt upon sight, only to falter. She senses that she can take a guess at what's going through his head. There are too many questions of her own swimming about, wanting to flood from her mouth at once. That's the last thing he needs right now. 

Some realization seems to hit him and his expression hardens ever so slightly.

"That would mean she never searched for me," he says quietly, blankly. 

"We don't know that," Lizzie hurries to point out. She knows Freya, even if not that well. She cares about her family more than anything. The thought of her willingly abandoning her child doesn't make any sense to her. "After Dahlia gave you over, maybe she put herself and Freya back under the sleeping curse. Freya wouldn't have had a chance to look for you for another century, and at that point, she would probably have assumed you were dead. There are a lot of possibilities that we just don't know."

Sebastian doesn't disagree with her. There's still a touch of hurt clinging to his expression, and she can't exactly blame him.

Thoughts rush through her head. She can't help but wonder if her dad would notice if she snuck off to New Orleans for a day or two and brought back another Mikaelson. Her guess is, unfortunately, yes, but there's still a good chance of it working. Maybe if she enlisted Hope's help.

"What else do you know?" she asks him, deciding to try and get all of the information before making any plans. "You said that Dahlia dropped you off with the Salvatores. Did she ever...try and find you?"

His eyebrows furrow, but he shakes his head. "I'm uncertain. I know nothing of what her plans may have been for me with all of this talk of a curse and magic, but..."

"But what?" she prompts gently, tilting her head. 

He looks up at her, meeting her gaze. His eyes soften the slightest bit. It warms a piece of her heart, but she ignores it.

"I do recall something from when I was young," he says. "My family got word from someone. I overheard something about Dahlia looking for us. It terrified them, but I could never figure out why. All that they told me was that I was to be cautious. Not to give my name away so willingly in case someone might use it to find me."

It makes sense in Lizzie's head at last. His reason for being so afraid of her discovering his name. Lizzie herself is cautious about telling people she's descended from the Gemini Coven. Being told you have to keep your identity a secret so that someone won't track you down and possibly kidnap you when you're young is certainly likely to have some effect on a person.

"So... you were basically in hiding your entire life?" Lizzie asks, sadness slipping into her voice no matter how she tries to hide it. Thoughts of Triad creep up on her, how they have to be careful if they even go into town. 

"I suppose I was, yes," Sebastian agrees thoughtfully. "After Dahlia left me with the Salvatore family, they fled to England. They said they just needed a fresh start after everything that happened with my father, but I can't help but wonder now if it was something else."

Lizzie nods in understanding. "She wouldn't have been able to find you even if she was searching for you." She raises a shoulder in a shrug and adds, "unless she did a locator spell or something on you, but considering you never met, I'm guessing she didn't. Unless you're secretly keeping the fact that you're currently stuck under her spell and can't free yourself because she's dead and that's why you're not actually here a secret from me."

It's a joke, of course, and she lays it out as such with a soft chuckle and a grin. But she watches every detail of his face carefully, looking for any minuscule twitch that would give him away. She vaguely recalls something about Freya having to project herself while she was under the curse. It's not exactly outside of the realm of possibilities right now to consider that he might be doing the same, trying to ask for help.

But Sebastian laughs and shakes his head. The sight relaxes her ever so slightly. 

"I would not lie to you, Elizabeth," he says, looking up at her, though she has a doubt about his sincerity. Then he hesitates and her heart plummets right down just as it did when MG broke the news of Sebastian's invisibility to her. "You are, however, partially right."

"Oh god," she groans to the treetops, reality hitting her like a blow to her gut. "I knew it. I knew you were too good to be true. First the whole invisible thing, then your name, and now this. Just tell me now if you're working with Malivore or whatever to get me to free you."

"No, no," Sebastian hurries to say, now the one stepping forward. She takes a step back without thinking even as his hands reach out to touch her, then falters in mid-air. "I am not using you, Elizabeth. And I have never heard of this... _Malivore_."

Lizzie eyes him doubtfully. She did already rule out the possibility of him being one of the monsters sent to manipulate her or whatever they're up to now that Malivore is destroyed. Or at least, so they thought. And he isn't exactly like the rest of them anyway.

"Then what do you mean I'm 'partially right'?" she asks, almost demanding. A stab of guilt twists in her chest. 

Sebastian sighs, dropping his hands back to his side, apparently remembering his own warning of not getting too close. She can't help but think it's a bit late for that. Even if he is some ghost or illusion, she kissed him, and she's pretty sure that counts as letting him get close. 

"I am under a spell of sorts." His voice changes as he explains, a note of desperation to it. It's strange, but he almost sounds scared again as he goes on. "You are right that I am not really here, as proven by your friend. My physical body is trapped. I do not know where, but I know that I can only reach you like this, through this — this connection that we have."

"What do you mean you're trapped?" she asks, her anger relaxing slightly as her eyebrows furrow. "And how the hell can you get into my head then? I'm a witch, we're supposed to have impenetrable minds from vampire influence."

Sebastian shakes his head. "I wish I knew why, but I am afraid I do not. As for my body; it is trapped in a box somewhere, but I cannot find it. I believe I am desiccated. I can still feel and think and hear, but I cannot move. I cannot even see. Everything is just dark, and that is why I need your help."

The realization clicks into place. 

"Of course," she says, and those two words make more sense than pretty much anything else has to her in the last half hour, the pieces falling into place now. "That's why you can only appear like this. It doesn't really explain the getting into my mind or even MG's for that matter, but I suppose it's probably the same reason for why even a demon can't successfully possess me. Who knew having a broken mind would come with advantages for once?"

The last part may come out a little bitter than she intended, but she's not complaining all that much. In truth, she's glad. If it's the reason that she had full control of her own mind, managed to be literally the first person to remember Hope Mikaelson, and now communicate with a desiccated vampire, then she is more than okay with it for once.

Sebastian's expression softens, though, and he takes another step forward. He reaches out again and she doesn't pull away this time as he slips a hand beneath her hair, settling on the side of her neck.

"Your mind is not broken, Elizabeth," he says, shaking his head as he looks her in the eyes with a disbelieving smile. "It is beautiful. And unique. And it is what is allowing me to even be here like this with you right now, and for that, I am in awe of it."

Lizzie's breath catches in her throat. She wants to roll her eyes; she does, looking away from him if only to try and distract from how her skin heats. She isn't so successful in attempting to suppress even a twitch of a smile at that. It might just have been the best thing for him to say in the moment, even if she doesn't express how grateful she is for him saying it.

"If you're desiccated then you must be around here somewhere," she says, diverting the subject before she melts in his hands. "How were you turned into a vampire? And how did you end up here if the Salvatores moved to England?"

"Well," Sebastian starts slowly, letting his hand slip back down from her neck. She sadly watches it go. "Although I listened to my family and their warnings, I did not always follow their rules. Or that one in particular."

Lizzie lifts her eyes to stare at him. "What do you mean?"

Sebastian raises a shoulder in a shrug, and he almost looks sheepish. Regretful. Lizzie sighs in her head, readying herself for whatever is about to come out of his mouth next, because she's certain that it can't be all that good. Why would it be at any point?

"I was curious about the other bloodline from which I am descended," he says, and she's certain right away that she doesn't need him to continue. Still, she stays quiet as he goes on. "My mother's side. See, the Mikaelsons were rather infamous around England in my time, especially in the village we resided in." 

"Oh," she breathes out, swallowing.

She definitely remembers reading about that period of time when the Mikaelsons were in England in the late fifteenth century. The phrase "turning a blind-eye" stuck in her mind, as well as the words "murder," "creatures of the night," and "bloodshed." Then again, that's what most of the accounts of their travels say.

"Three of them," Sebastian says. "Two noblemen and a noblewoman. They were not using the Mikaelson name, but there were whispers that that was their true identity, especially among my family. And so...I might have gone to see them."


	4. We creatures of the night are rather infamous

_October 15th, 1481. _

The floorboards in the hallway give a quiet wooden creak with each muffled footstep. Sebastian stares at the door from his bed, tucked beneath his blankets and the quilt that his grandmother insists is never allowed to be taken off. He holds his breath as the footsteps pause outside of his door.

There's a rustling of fabric and he imagines Vera on the other side of it. She's been at the manor his entire life, now in her thirties, a pale but bright-faced lady serving the Salvatore family. She always teases him about how he would wind his fingers through her strawberry-blonde curls, obsessed with her hair when he was younger. It's still just as bright and bouncing now, either piled up on her head or in curly little coils at either side or swept into plaits.

She has a habit of checking in on him, something that he is usually fond of. Tonight, however, he wishes for her to keep walking. He hates lying to her, and it's either that or pretend to be asleep, and that's just deceit which isn't entirely better. But if it comes to it then he will. 

There's another rustle, the adjusting of a dress, and he holds his breath. Then comes the sounds of Vera shuffling down the hallway, away from his door. He exhales in relief but still waits a moment until there's the quiet click of a door closing at the other end of the hall.

Pulling back the blankets, he slips from his bed, careful to stay light on his feet. He crosses the room, picking up his cloak and slipping it on. He fastens it at his shoulder with deft, nimble fingers. Then he opens his door as quietly as possible and leaves his room. The hallway is lit by the lamps on the crimson coloured walls and he follows them all the way to the spiralling staircase.

He cautiously makes his way down them. His ears are attuned to every noise of the house, listening out for any that might alert him to someone else's presence. He's sure that everyone else should be asleep, but on the off-chance that they aren't, he needs at least a warning to come up with some viable excuse for leaving the house so late.

Perhaps they would be satisfied with a lie revolving around a young lady. They do keep pushing ever so gently, attempting to be subtle. He finds far too much amusement in their discreet questions and clear concerns about how much time he spends around the village baker's son, Jasper. He would never act on any desires he has for him, of course, but letting them know that would only take the fun out of it. 

Fortunately, no one interrupts him on his way to the entrance, and he successfully slips out of the manor without a problem. 

He pulls his cloak closer to his body. The cold is starting to settle into the air once again, trying to bite at his skin. He throws a glance up at the night sky, dark and stretching for miles down across the village. It's enough to give him pause, staring up at the countless number of stars, each one twinkling away. There's always been something about nights like this that makes time seem to go lower and everything feel less important, somehow. The only thing that would make it better would be if it were snowing. 

Pulling himself from his momentary daze, he walks forward down the path and the hill, into the woods. He's never been sure why his grandmother and grandfather decided to live as far from the rest of the village as they could, and on a hill so steep, surrounded by woods. For safety and protection, he's sure.

They've never let go of that Dahlia woman despite her never showing her face around them since the day he was born and she handed him over to them. At this point, she's a mere rumour in his life. A name whispered behind closed doors to avoid him from hearing. He pays it little attention anyway, seeing no reason to let it take over his life.

His thoughts easily slide from Dahlia into his reason for sneaking out as he walks at a brisk pace through the woods, hoping he can reach the village in time. There was talk of some nobles visiting and hosting a party of sorts nearby. Open to all, some villagers had said, chatting excitedly about what they were going to wear and plans of how to cozy up to them. 

Usually, his family would be one of the first to be personally invited to any sort of gathering, or the first to announce their attendance even without an invite. But for some reason, the second he mentioned it to his grandmother, she shot the idea down. Practically refused, but in her warm, gentle manner that made it seem like nothing.

Except it's something, Sebastian's sure. They never miss an opportunity to celebrate their name, even if they warn him to be careful of his own. It was only once he mentioned the name of the nobles that he saw the change in his grandmother and grandfather's expressions. Even his aunt who was in the room at the time took on a look of concern. 

The de Guise family are well-known. Even by his own, and yet, they're another name spoken about behind closed doors with hushed voices and almost fearful whispers. He once questioned them on it when he was younger.

They had told him the truth; they suspected that the de Guise family was connected to Dahlia. To his mother.

Apparently rumours of their last name spread, some certain that they had seen their faces a few years ago in some other country but with the name Mikaelson attached. Those people either changed their minds the next day, confused as if they had never said it at all, or turned up dead in their doorsteps or in some back alley.

Sebastian understood. Caution is important. Names are sacred, powerful things. Not to be given out carelessly or discussed. And the Mikaelsons were to be avoided, in case it was some trap, or it alerted Dahlia in any way. He had said he accepted that and would not push the subject any farther.

In his eyes, he's keeping his word. At least on the last part. But the rule of steering clear of any possible connection to his mother feels pointless. If they are truly Mikaelsons, why shouldn't he take the chance to meet them? They don't even necessarily have to know who he is. He just needs to see them, at least once.

It doesn't take too long for him to finally reach the clearing of the forest, putting him on the main road into the heart of the village. He keeps a careful, even pace, but he doesn't bother to hide away as he passes people by. No matter how hard his grandparents may try to keep themselves isolated in a way, everyone knows who they are. Sebastian especially.

It's just hard not to strike up a conversation when he's in town, and people are always far too friendly for him to duck his head and make an excuse to leave. That would be impolite.

He offers smiles in returns to ones aimed at him, nodding in acknowledgement to two girls he's talked to a number of times, often bumping into them near the middle of town. Even with the sky dark, many people wander the cobbled streets of the village, oil lamps illuminating it every way he turns, the village as alive as it is during the day.

He suspects that may have something to do with his own reason for being out. Their village is quiet aside from the odd whisper here and there that stirs up a buzz of thrilled excitement, but nothing quite like this. Everyone wants a chance to see the nobles visiting just on the border of their very own home. 

As he passes the bakers, a quaint little shop with a warm, welcoming sign, he catches Jasper coming out. He slows his pace a touch, tempted to go over to him. Jasper turns before he can make a decision, and their eyes lock, making him pause in his own tracks. 

A soft curve of his lips turns into that charming smile of his that reaches all the way up to his eyes. Sebastian can't help but return it. That flutter of desire in his chest spreads its wings, trying to tempt him once more. There's something about the moonlight; everything about Jasper looks soft and beautiful, from the blond wisps of his hair to his delicate cheekbones, and the little dimples by his mouth.

He raises a hand in a slight wave, and Sebastian mirrors him, his own smile growing. Then Jasper ducks his head and walks away, turning down the street for his home. Sebastian takes another second, simply watching him go with a lingering smile before continuing on his own path down the opposite street. 

It takes him through the middle of the square, past the few shops and hostels and alehouses alike, until he enters into the neighbouring village. From there, he takes a guess as to where he is going. He simply trails behind the ones dressed rather extravagantly, sensing their destination to be the same as his own. 

He's proven right as carriages begin to pass them through the streets. He moves aside for two magnificent black horses, whinnying gently as they trot along, the clip of their hooves against the cobbled ground echoing into the night to mingle with the faint murmur of the people chattering away with excitement.

He's able to pick the building out right away as he rounds the corner. It is lit up from every window with the door swung wide open. It almost looks like a hostel, but somehow more refined than the ones from his own village. Fit for nobles, he supposes. 

There's a loud echo of laughter coming from inside, cheers and shouts. It all seems to be in good spirits though as he approaches, carefully crossing the room and avoiding the carriage. There are people outside, simply standing on the street, swaying dangerously and giggling away. 

Sebastian's attention is more focused on the carriage blocking the top of the street. It's far bigger than the one rolling to a stop behind him, and painted in richer colours. Shimmering gold and crimson, with the most beautiful white horses. He brushes off the hands of a glazed-eyed woman, slipping past her with ease.

It's clearly what the guests of the hour arrived in. No other villager for miles would be able to get their hands on anything like it. 

For the first time since he formed this plan, the reality of it hits him. His stomach swoops and everything inside of him bunches itself up into knots. If the rumours are true, he could be about to meet his family. Relatives of his mother. 

The thought almost seems daunting now that he's really considering it, forcing him to take a step back from the entrance. He can't be sure of what awaits him inside aside from the obvious answer of drunken idiots. Perhaps it will be worse than that, and these de Guise's are not really Mikaelsons at all. He doesn't exactly have anything to base it on apart from a feeling.

Another burst of laughter erupts from inside, drifting out to fill the street. He takes in a deep breath, steadying himself. Just a quick look at them, that's all he needs. Just to see them with his own eyes instead of listening to every whisper.

He walks forward, only pausing momentarily as two young ladies go in front of him, arm in arm. He slips in behind them, nerves suddenly building inside of him. The laughter intensifies as soon as he's inside, everything somehow much louder. 

The room is livelier than anywhere else he's seen. People are lounging around tables, sprawled across chairs or others laps in their intoxication. Others roam around, moving from one group to the next, never losing an air of elegance for a second. 

Sebastian finds himself faltering again, his chest tight. He quickly moves aside from the doorway when voices approach from behind, clearing the entrance for them. They barely notice, walking straight in. He turns his attention back to the room, reminding himself of his mission. 

He keeps his expression calm as he begins to walk, taking each calculated step with caution as he scans over the room. There are so many people, and all dressed for the occasion. It's hard to pick the local villagers from the out of towners with the few exceptions here and there. No one seems to care, though.

"Sir?" he hears someone ask, and looks to his left to find a young man with ebony hair and a timid but polite look on his face. "Your name? It is merely to keep track of your belongings."

He motions at the cloak still fastened around his shoulders and Sebastian does another quick glance around, realizing that everyone else seems to be discarding their own off to other people or leaving them around without a care. Nodding, he unfastens his own.

"Er, my name?" he says uncertainly, and the man nods back as he holds out a hand out for the cloak.

He hesitates, his thoughts a mess, and the only word sticking out to him is Mikaelson. The news of that woman turning up dead after daring to utter the name comes back to him, and yet, he can't shake it off. Even if no one were to believe him, wouldn't it be nice to be able to tell the truth for once? 

"Mikaelson," he murmurs distantly as he hands over his cloak. 

The young man nods again and scrawls it down onto a piece of parchment with a feathery quill that Sebastian eyes with curiosity. It almost looks like the distinct black feather of a starling. Interesting birds, those are. He has always had a strange connection to them. Though it could just be a simple crow. They are known for observing and always watching, he supposes.

"Enjoy," the man then says without further question, smiling.

Sebastian hurries to move away, relieved. He walks around a table and further into the hostel. He accepts a glass when it's pressed into his hands, though eyes it with distaste and leaves it be. One look around and he decides he isn't fond of the idea of joining the _revelry_, another word for becoming a drunken fool. Especially not tonight.

He keeps walking, taking his time as his stomach twists and turns with each new face he glances at. There have been descriptions of these nobles, enough that he's sure he would recognize them upon sight. He hopes, or else maybe this was all for nothing after all.

He slowly winds his way around tables and smoothly avoids the few people who try and get his attention or call him over. Apparently the hostels and the people of this village are fairly different from his own.

It's not the worst, though it's jolting and makes him want to be back in the calm warmth of his own with all of its familiar faces. Sitting on the edge of the fountain with the quiet hum of the water behind him. Jasper's laugh as he rolls his eyes at something Sebastian said. Staring at their hands laying inches apart on the cool stone, playing with the mischief that tempts him to take a risk.

Then the people in front of him move just as he overhears someone say the name de Guise. He looks over in their direction to find a group of people, all of their faces clear as day. His heart lurches into his throat. He stiffens, hesitating, trying to figure out who is being addressed. 

"What a pleasure it is," one of the women says with an almost alluring tone. A smirk dances across her lips as she bends as if to curtsey but bows instead, bringing the hand held in her own to her lips.

The other woman laughs, her face lighting up with clear delight. "Now aren't you a lovely little creature."

Her blonde curls fall around her face, framing it perfectly as she shares a look with the two men at her side. One has an identical smirk to her own, a laidback sort of amusement to his expression as he rolls his eyes. The other merely smiles and nods his agreement, taking a sip from his glass as the woman straightens back up.

Three of them. That's what everyone said. Two men, one woman. Two of them were said to look so similar; blonde hair to their shoulders, mischievous eyes, smiles that could lure a canary to a cat with remarkable ease. The other was said to be the more refined of the three. Always polite, an honourable gentleman with dark brown hair and a warm that didn't quite match with the reserved icy glaze in his eyes. 

The descriptions fit. Sebastian watches them with wide eyes, his heart picking up an extra beat. It's hard for him to tell if seeing them makes him more certain that these people are his family or more doubtful about it. Something inside of him is pulling, though, twisting and turning this way and that as if trying to make him move, get his attention. 

He never met his mother, but he remembers what his grandparents have told him about her from the few times they met her. Blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes that twinkled when they weren't darkened with fear. She was kind, and warm, and spoke fondly of what her son would be like once he was born.

What kind of family they would have. She apparently once mentioned hoping to find her brother and reunite with the rest of her family she had never met. If she were in his shoes, she would do the same thing. She would want him to take the chance, if only to at least know that he saw them.

To know that there is another side of his family out there, living their lives, even if without knowing that he is a part of theirs.

He forces himself to walk without thinking. The four of them are still talking as he approaches, and hangs back close enough that the blonde woman spots him first. Her smile widens, her head tilting.

"You look rather nervous, darling," she comments, sounding pleased about it.

Sebastian falters for a second, his heart jumping again. An odd look crosses one of the men's faces, as if he can hear it. Sebastian brushes it off and manages to plaster on a smile as he nods.

"I suppose I am," he says. 

"Oh, you poor thing," the woman says, practically cooing as she sweeps forward to take his arm, sliding it through hers. "We can't have that. What is your name?"

"Sebastian," he says, a little too quickly, hoping she won't ask for a last name. She seems kind, even if somewhat intimidating. Like what his grandparents described his mother to be. He wishes he was able to tell if there was even a slight resemblance.

"Well, Sebastian. I'm Lady Rebekah," she tells him with a warm smile before her eyes cut away to the men. "And these are my brothers, Lord Niklaus and Lord Elijah. But feel free to ignore them, sweetheart, I often do."

The one she referred to as Niklaus rolls his eyes while Elijah merely shakes his head in fond disapproval.

"Oh for christ's sake, Bekah," Niklaus says in exasperation, pointing a finger at him. "I told you no more strays. I have already had a bloody enough of that last scoundrel you invited into our home and like to call a man." He eyes Sebastian with a clear judgement look. "This one is barely even that."

"I assure you," Sebastian chuckles, quickly intervening, finding amusement in Niklaus, "I am no stray, and I have no intention of staying. I only came to see someone. Although, I have to say, you seem rather young yourself to be calling anyone barely a man, no?"

Niklaus' eyebrows shoot up his forehead, and he feels Rebekah tense next to him. Even Elijah appears shocked, his eyes darting to his brother as someone would when fearing an explosion. That may have been the wrong move, he realizes as Niklaus stares at him, his eyes narrowing slowly.

Then he laughs, spreading his arms. "I am much older than you think, but I will always take a compliment. And I do admire your boldness. Reminds me of my little brother."

"Ah, yes," Elijah says, visibly relaxing as he straightens up. His eyes sweep over Sebastian. "He is remarkably like Kol, isn't he?"

"Stop it, you two," Rebekah scolds. "You are going to scare the poor boy away. He is nothing like our menace of a brother."

Even as she glances at him, she doesn't seem so sure about that. A little spark of joy ignites in Sebastian's chest, but he can't explain it. Hearing them bicker and compare him to a member of their family that they talk about with fondness in their voices despite their words. This is all he wanted. To see what they were like. It's more than he could have hoped. For nobles, they're surprisingly pleasant.

Rebekah begins to speak again, about to ask if he'd like a drink, but she only gets half of the question out before a voice calls over to them. Someone suddenly appears at their sides; a tall man with dark hair and a rather urgent look on his face. 

He turns away from Sebastian and Rebekah, leaning in to whisper something to Niklaus who listens intently. Sebastian glances between them uncertainly, a flutter of nerves erupting in his chest once more. What if someone overheard him claiming to be a Mikaelson? He hasn't had confirmation that that's who these people are, but he can feel it. He knows it's the truth. 

Niklaus' expression hardens, and it's as if a thunderstorm passes across his face. Sebastian's heart is in his throat, but he manages to remain calm on the outside as Niklaus clenches his jaw, clearly seething. For a split second, his eyes move to Sebastian, locking with his own, and he's sure that he's made the worst mistake. 

But then Niklaus sighs as the man pulls back, hovering for a moment as he watches him.

"Very well," he says in a tight voice, then looks to Elijah and Rebekah. "I am afraid we must step out for a moment. We apparently have some surprise guests that we must deal with. Now."

A look of understanding seems to pass between the three of them even as Sebastian tries to make sense of it. Surprise guests? What if he's talking about him? Except it was plural. Surely no one followed him. His stomach drops at the thought of having accidentally dragged any of his family into this. 

"Excuse us, Sebastian," Rebekah says kindly, resting her hand on his arm for a moment as she frees her other. 

Niklaus doesn't stop her, simply motioning his head for the two of them to follow. They do and disappear from sight as the mystery man leads the way for them through the crowd of people who attempt to catch their attention or grab hold of them. They're shaken off without a glance and with far too much ease.

Sebastian watches them go with a frown and a still-racing heart. Clearly it doesn't involve him. And he's beyond relieved; he doesn't know how he would ever be able to convince them of who he is. Yet the part of him that lead him to sneak out and betray the one rule his family makes him swear by is itching with curiosity once more.

Something is wrong. To bring Niklaus so much anger, and to alarm the three of them like that. Something isn't sitting right with him and the thought of these surprise guests. Who else could have chosen tonight to show up and meet the nobles who somehow seem to draw attention no matter where they go?

He should leave, he decides. Their business is not his, even if they are related. If he goes now, he could very well coax Jasper into taking a walk with him around the village so long as his father is asleep. He could leave, satisfied that he has met them.

But his feet move forward, and he heads in the same direction the four of them went. He apologizes when he bumps into someone on the passing, receiving a slurred "watch it" in response, and hurries through to a corridor. It's narrow and seems far longer than should be able considering the size of the building on the outside. 

There's a door facing him. It's ajar, and he can see a strip of moonlight peeking in across the floorboards that are barely lit by the two dying lamps lining the walls. When he glances down to the other end of the hallway, it cuts off to the right into what he's guessing are stairs leading up to the bedrooms. 

He ignores his instincts urging him to turn back and steps forward, careful not to move the door too far as he slips out through it. It brings him back outside, the noises of the revelry quickly muffling ever so slightly. The cold air feels harsher against his skin now without his cloak. 

He realizes he's in an alleyway, glancing over the back entrances of the buildings in front of him. None of the doors are open. He looks down one side then the other, debating, then heads left seeing as how it's closer and cuts off up ahead while the right seems to open back out onto the street.

He's cautious as he approaches, his footsteps quiet even against the cobblestone ground. Noises drift around the corner, caught up in the breeze. Voices. Or maybe just noises; strange ones that make him pause, wondering if he chose the wrong direction. They sound almost inhuman. Like growling, maybe. A wild animal, perhaps.

It almost has him backing away. Instead, he takes another step forward and peers around the corner. He frowns, his eyebrows drawing together as he tries to see into the darkly-lit alleyway. There are three silhouettes. One is standing a little apart from the rest. The noises seem to be coming from them.

It takes Sebastian's eyes a moment to adjust. They focus in on the five shapes on the ground that he's only just noticing. His stomach drops. Not shapes. Bodies. All motionless. 

His eyes dart back to the three silhouettes as one of them straightens up, dropping something from their arms without a care. Another body hits the ground with a muffled thud. His heart races as he watches them, his lungs catching on air. It's them. 

Niklaus, wiping at his mouth with a satisfied sigh. Elijah standing apart from the rest as he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. To wipe blood from the corner of his mouth, Sebastian realizes as his eyes fully adjust to the dark, able to make out the unmistakable shade. And Rebekah, clutching another body in her arms, her face hidden in their neck.

"Honestly," Elijah sighs, a stern note to his voice. "You two are like savages. Do you have so little control or humanity left in you?"

"Oh, stop whining, brother," Niklaus replies, and even in the dark Sebastian can see him rolling his eyes. "They were here to kill us. If these people are going to be idiotic enough to try and take us on, then we are merely putting them out of their misery. It is a mercy, really."

Rebekah finally pulls back, following Niklaus' lead in letting the body fall to the ground. She turns around, and Sebastian nearly gasps at the sight of her eyes. It's as if veins push against the skin beneath her eyes, trying to break free. And as for her eyes themselves; they look black, as if possessed by something otherworldly. The blood she wipes away from her chin without a second thought only adds to that.

"And it is fun," she says, smirking. 

Klaus laughs, earning them both a glare from Elijah.

"Vile, the both of you," Elijah says with distaste, stuffing his handkerchief back into his pocket. 

"And you are a bloody hypocrite," Niklaus snaps. "You are just as bad we are and you know it. So, get off of your high horse before I drag you from it with the reminder that three of the bodies laying at our feet right now are on your conscience, and their blood on your hands."

Elijah's lip curls, but he doesn't try and argue. 

"Just help me tidy this mess up before someone sees."

"Relax, Elijah," Rebekah cuts in now with a sigh, waving her hands around them in gesture. "Everyone knows what we are. Just because they whisper it instead of confronting us with torches and pitchforks, that does not mean they do not know."

"Yes, we creatures of the night are rather infamous," Niklaus agrees smugly, sharing an amused look with her.

Sebastian pulls back around the corner as Elijah groans, his exasperation growing. Forcing himself to hold his breath, he takes slow steps back, careful not to draw their attention. Who knows what they might do to him if they knew he had seen them like this? 

He manages to make it all the way along the alleyway and hurries back in through the door. His chest aches as he finally breathes out, his heart pounding in his ears. Swallowing, he quickly finds his way back to the entrance of the hostel, only to pause. He seeks out the man who stopped him to take his cloak and quickly finds him, to his relief. 

In a few minutes, he's back outside on the street, taking quick strides away from the hostel. It was a ridiculous idea. He should have listened to his grandparents, he realizes as he pulls his cloak tight around himself, walking back into his village.

Although, a part of him can't help but cling to the warmth and the connection he felt while talking to the three of them. He's right about who they are, he knows it. Even if they are not what he was expecting. Creatures of the night.

The words stick in his head the entire way back. He can't even bring himself to go and convince Jasper to walk with him for just five minutes like he usually does. What is a creature of the night? He saw them kill people, but that much he expected considering the rumours. They didn't just kill them, but drink from them as if their blood was water. They disregarded them so easily.

He wonders just what kind of creatures they are with their veins, dark eyes and taste for blood. The only word that comes to mind is one that few rarely speak out of fear. Vampyre. They're said to have a penchant for blood. Lurking in the shadows. Demons.

The thought doesn't scare as him as much as he thought it would. They were lovely and kind and warm while speaking to him, even if it was only briefly. And he's sure he heard that the people they killed were there to do the same to them. Perhaps there's another side to their tale. One that he would very much like to find out.

For now, though, he hurries home. He manages to get back inside and into his bed without anyone catching him. As he falls asleep, his mind swims with thoughts of Vampyres, and of the people he is almost certain are part of his family.


End file.
